Aragorn had watched Frodo with Sam for many days, and knew much of the two, not least of which was this: for now, while danger did not seem to press the company too hotly, they often slipped away from the camp, though not far, to be alone in the night.

He sat against the thick bole of an oak, scraggly leaves clinging to its outstretched fingers, and drew on his pipe, watching its smoke drift amidst the moonlight and shadows. Gimli snored stoutly, a hand on his axe, his rasping breaths breaking the silence and nearly obscuring the softer sounds that were there for alert ears to hear.

A rustle of cloaks. A soft, wet sound that might have meant many things. He shifted his feet, easing his hip against the stony ground. It was hard, of course, to hide anything in a company such as theirs. Privacy fell by the wayside early on.

He pitied them, driven to steal what solace they could in the cold depths of winter, beneath the lengthening fingers of the shadow. Though he was solitary himself, and the sounds of them together made him yearn for the end of his own road and a reward that he might never find, he would not grudge the halflings this, knowing the horror into which they walked. He sighed, resisting the burden of his sorrow. His own hope would wither and fail with Frodo's, should it come to that.

His pipe went out and he balanced it carefully in one hand, avoiding the bowl, which was hot. He lifted a stone and tapped the dottle onto the ground beneath it, then resettled it in its place. He pulled out his pouch and refilled the pipe, tamping it with one finger, but there was no campfire to light it from, and his flint and tinder were in his pack.

The moon's lamp shone lowering in the west, a slender crescent tipped to pour its light into the restless breast of the Sea. His watch was almost past.

A soft whimper broke the night: Sam's voice. He had been driven more than once, by unease, to check on them when he heard such things--moving silent and hidden in the raven cloak of night until their pale faces were visible to his sharp eyes. Not to intrude, but to be sure no evil thing had crept upon them as they took comfort in one another.

He would spare them that this night; Hollin lay easy about them, the land quiet and at peace. They had seen no signs of darkness throughout the day and he had sensed none throughout the long night.

Another low cry made Gandalf stir. His eyes glittered in the moon, seeking Aragorn; Aragorn nodded to him and the wizard rose, almost soundless, and approached, sinking to sit at Aragorn's side. Aragorn offered him the pipe and he took it, setting it between his lips. A single flame flickered, and Aragorn smiled crookedly. Gandalf puffed; the leaf glowed in the bowl and he sighed, sounding contented. Fine Longbottom leaf from the Shire was a luxury they might not soon see again.

"They are safe?" Gandalf gazed at the low crop of stone and gorse that hid the halflings, and Aragorn dropped his head in agreement. He heard the sounds at hand go still; they were vigilant.

"I will take the next watch," Gandalf murmured, and Aragorn tipped his head; the next watch was to have been Merry's, but he lay huddled with Pippin on the other side of the fire-- if they were not so close together as the absent ones, then they were not far from it, either. And they had not been driven to seek comfort by horror-- yet.

But perhaps that thought was not just to those who had found one another; he had seen Sam Gamgee's eyes resting wistfully on Frodo long before the Morgul-knife pierced him. Sam's devotion had come as no surprise, not when he stood over Frodo's body to defend him from Strider himself, nor even when he held Frodo's hand and body to warm him and ease him through the seventeen long nights while he suffered. Sam would not leave Frodo, not even while he lay senseless in Rivendell, recovering... Aragorn smiled. Frodo had chosen his companions well.

"I will sleep," he murmured, as the lowest horn of the moon touched the land.

"Rest well, for soon we will approach Caradhras, and I do not see what lies beyond," Gandalf counseled.

Aragorn nodded and went to his blankets; as he lay down Frodo and Sam crept back into the camp together. They went to their places under Gandalf's watchful gaze; Aragorn could see their hands clasped beneath the shelter of their cloaks.

He closed his eyes and fell into dreams of Arwen Undomiel.